


i'm treading for me life, believe me (how can i keep up this breathing?)

by Anonymous



Series: movin along, no, i wont settle down (until im locked behind bars or kicked outta town) [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Real World, Foster Care, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Sensory Overload, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, no beta we die like l'manberg, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29647734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It’s all- Everything is just too much. Too much too often. He grabs fistfuls of his hair and yanks, reveling in how it grounds him. He’s sitting up on his bed now, leaning against the wall, he doesn’t know when he made the change in position, doesn’t know when he curled up into a little ball, but he rocks back and forth and the motion calms him, just a little.He doesn’t know why he’s feeling like this.AKA: Tommy has a sensory overload.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: movin along, no, i wont settle down (until im locked behind bars or kicked outta town) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163195
Comments: 23
Kudos: 558
Collections: Anonymous





	i'm treading for me life, believe me (how can i keep up this breathing?)

**Author's Note:**

> typical disclaimers apply for fics like this, don't show this to the CCs, please don't repost, even with credit, because that's really hard to curate when i post anonymously, based off the characters not the people themselves, ill take this down if requested, etc, etc, you all know the drill.
> 
> foster care au, set pre-covid, 
> 
> tw for a brief description of a sensory overload.. adhd tommy supremacy yes i am neurodivergent yes i will project onto fictional characters... what abt it
> 
> technically a vent fic but im doing fine now lol
> 
> quick edit: i totally forgot to anon this lets all pretend that never happened lmao

Tommy’s oh-so tired.

Nothing’s actually wrong, per se. He’s just… tired. Classes were taxing as always, entering a new school as tiring as he remembers it to be. He didn’t get in any big fight with Wilbur or Techno, save for the petty squabbles they get into over little things- and even then, he could barely find the energy to participate. Phil didn’t yell at him. Tubbo, one of his new school friends, didn’t say or do anything to set him off. 

On all accounts, he should be fine. … So why isn’t he? 

He’s lying on his back on his new mattress, mapping the water stains in the ceiling like stars and connecting them like constellations. He’s bored out of his mind. And he’s tired. His fingers itch to grab his phone, to mindlessly scroll through Twitter until he’s called down for dinner, to get _some form_ of stimulation- But fuck, is he tired, and the thought of consuming anything right now makes the headache that’s already beginning to form in his temples scream in protest. 

He doesn’t pick up the phone. He rolls onto his side and faces the wall, and picks at the chipped and peeling drywall absentmindedly. Phil had told him they were planning on patching it up, had been meaning to for years, and only really had actual cause to when Tommy moved in.

He rolls back onto his back. He’s still bored. And still tired. 

Next door to him is Techno’s room. The walls are paper-thin, here, and he can hear the scritch scratch of pencil on paper as the man writes something. Across from him is Wilbur, and the faint tip-tap of keys can be heard through two closed doors and walls, as he, presumably, uses his computer. Kitty-corner to him is Phil’s room, which remains silent- His foster-father is downstairs cooking dinner for them.

He flops onto his stomach and buries his head into the pillows. He’s so fucking tired, and he’s so bored, and every little sound is just _so_ loud. It makes him want to scream in frustration and stomp over to Techno’s room and snap his fucking pencil, and then throw Wilbur’s godforsaken keyboard out an open window. 

Downstairs the fire alarm goes off, followed by muffled swearing. He can hear it through the vents, and while usually he couldn’t give less of a shit about what Phil’s up to, the noise grates his ears painfully. It chirps angrily at him, and Tommy clamps his hands over his ears, trying, and failing, to block out the noise. It’s consistent in its frequency, growing louder and louder until every beep feels like it’s splitting Tommy’s head in half. Beep Beep Beep. Beep Beep Beep.

It’s all- Everything is just _too much. Too_ much _too_ often. He grabs fistfuls of his hair and _yanks_ , reveling in how it grounds him. He’s sitting up on his bed now, leaning against the wall, he doesn’t know when he made the change in position, doesn’t know when he curled up into a little ball, but he rocks back and forth and the motion calms him, just a little.

He doesn’t know _why_ he’s feeling like this. 

He rocks back and forth frantically again, and hits his head against the wall where it resounds with a solid thunk. It calms him down, incrementally, and before he can stop himself he’s doing it again, rocking forward to gain momentum. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. He gets dizzy with the repetitive motion of it, and there’s a dull pain at the back of his head, but the pain is grounding and he can’t stop. Thunk. Thunk. 

Someone knocks and says something Tommy can’t hear or can’t understand, and then the door is swinging open, creaking on its hinges. It’s all just noise, so much fucking noise, and it feels like a thousand baseball bats hitting Tommy’s brain in succession. The person is still speaking, and he can practically _feel_ his skull splintering. 

There’s a hand.

There’s a hand, gently but firmly holding the back of his head as he rocks, stopping him before he can hit his head against the wall. He lets out a dry sob he doesn’t know he’s been holding in, leans back into the grip, and wretches his eyes open.

Wilbur. Wilbur’s there. It’s Wilbur’s hand. The voice, which must be Wilbur’s too, is still speaking. He forces himself to tune in, and instantly regrets it.

“-mmy, Tommy, stop that. What’s going on? Tommy?” He’s so loud and so so close, Tommy flinches back and brings his hands up to cover his ears again (When did he stop?) and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. He doesn’t say anything, but Wilbur must understand whatever message he’s subconsciously sending, because Tommy can feel the mattress give as the man dashes out of the room, and then dip under his weight again as he returns seconds later and sits down a little ways away from Tommy. He presses something into Tommy’s chest, and it takes a minute of blind grabbing for him to figure out that they’re headphones. He thanks whatever god there is, for Wilbur, for the headphones, whatever, and fumbles with them for just a second before he slips them on.

Everything goes, blissfully, amazingly, _thankfully_ , quiet.

He opens his eyes.

Wilbur is sitting, legs crossed, next to him on the bed. He mimes a thumbs up, and then tilts his head, asking a silent question. Tommy shoots him the most thankful smile he can muster and follows it with a weak thumbs up. Wilbur nods, understanding, and then leans back against the wall behind Tommy’s bed. Tommy hesitates, just for a second, and then follows suit and scoots just a little bit closer to him, so their knees are almost touching. He closes his eyes again and lets out a breath that he can’t hear.

They stay like that for a while.

**Author's Note:**

> i banged this out in like... 10 minutes while having a sensory overload myself so i apologize for any typos lol usually i go back and edit and revise my work but i'm just posting the messy first draft on this one. probably going to make some minor changes n fix punctuation issues eventually
> 
> no actual explicit like.. foster au content on this one, but it is set in the same universe so... if you enjoyed this you might like the other two works in this series! on the timeline, this is set some time after you gotta wanna break the heart (of all those pretty porcelain dolls) but i'm kinda sloppy w actual dates so
> 
> title is from into the ocean by blue october
> 
> comments, bookmarks, kudos, ect are greatly appreciated!! i know this one is short but literally any feedback lets me know that people are into what im writing and would like to see more of this universe!! thanks to everyone who's commented so far y'all are literally going to kill me <3
> 
> ...also, can we get tubbo's real name removed from his tag? im kind of uncomfortable w a minors name being like... plastered all over ao3. worries me, i know theres some unsavory people out there.


End file.
